


Letters After The Fall

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Flirting Via Letter, Grief, Happy Ending, Kissing, Longing, Love, M/M, Sherlock's Fall, The Aftermath of Sherlock's Fall, This Time John Finds Out The Truth, Worry, tentative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 06:52:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7498413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson watched his best friend jump to his death. He was broken, until he received a letter that brought him too many feelings and the chance to mend his heart. Will he be able to?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Grief

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. We've got a back catalogue of 100 stories, so feel free to get lost within them. **We hope you'll subscribe.**
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and liking and being a great community!

"John, dear? Why don't we turn on a light?" 

Mrs Hudson's soft voice carried over to John in the dark, but he didn't register it -- he didn't give any sign at having heard her. He stared at Sherlock's chair, trying to get the image out of his head. But how could he? Over and over again Sherlock was falling, falling silently but hitting the pavement with a sickening sound that still echoed in John's head. He flinched when the light came on, and tears spilled out as he closed his eyes against the brightness. 

"I know it's hard, John…" Her voice trailed off with that. There was nothing else to say about it. Sherlock wasn't coming home. He wasn't going to be around anymore. John had finally found a purpose again -- he had built everything around Sherlock. And now he was gone, and he wasn't coming home. Sherlock had chosen to leave. John kicked out suddenly, kicking Sherlock's chair hard. Mrs. Hudson gasped and covered her mouth. "I know, John," she mumbled.

What a selfish thing for Sherlock to have done -- to leave them all like that. And after John had tried so hard to save him, to talk him down. John never believed those lies. He hoped that it would have been enough, that he could have convinced Sherlock to stay. They could have fixed it. They could have tried. But now Sherlock wouldn't be trying anything anymore. But John could still clear his name. Maybe that would help ease the guilt gnawing at his insides. 

Mrs Hudson moved Sherlock's chair back into place. "I'll make some tea," she said, moving to the kitchen. She tidied up a little as the kettle boiled and then brought two cups in. "Should I open the windows a little maybe?" she asked quietly. "To get a little air in here, freshen it up a bit?" She stood up but waited for his response.

John held the cup tightly and nodded. He doubted it would help, but he didn't know what else to say about it.

She pulled back the curtains and opened the window a bit. "It's a nice afternoon," she said. "Maybe a little walk would help?"

John shook his head, taking a small sip of tea. He looked at the second cup and hoped it was for Mrs Hudson herself. The alternative was too painful.

"Maybe we could get some lunch or something later?" she said. She picked up her mug and sat down on the sofa. She looked over at him, wishing she could do or say something to make him feel better. "What can I do, John? Please tell me."

John blinked rapidly as he stared at his tea. He knew he wasn't the only one hurting. He needed to he strong for her as well. "We can have lunch," he agreed. He took another sip and looked over at her. "I just want to understand. He didn't seem the type to give up . . . I don't understand," he admitted softly.

"I don't think the ones left behind ever really understand," she said. "I know it's hard, but try to focus on the good times, I guess."

John looked down at his tea again. There were good times. What would thinking about them do? There wouldn't be any more. "Is that what helps you, then?" he asked.

"I suppose so," she said, closing her eyes a little. "I picture the two of you . . . the way you loved each other just made everything feel so happy." She opened her eyes sharply. "I'm sorry -- maybe I shouldn't . . ." her voice trailed off.

John looked over at her and shook his head. "He didn't . . . you know he didn't feel things like that," he said, more anger in his voice than he meant there to be. He was acutely aware that he hadn't denied that he had loved Sherlock. It was too hard to understand his past feelings now. But he did know what Sherlock thought about things like love, and it hurt to hear her say that now.

"Well, whatever you felt about each other . . . it made me feel happy to be around it. I like remembering that, but I understand if the memories don't feel the same to you," Mrs Hudson said softly.

John looked away from her, looking at Sherlock's chair. He swallowed hard. "What am I supposed to do without him?" he asked quietly.

She stood up to take her mug to the sink, tapping John softly on the shoulder. "You're supposed to live, John," she said. When she headed to the door, she added, "You lived when he was here and it made you happy. You need to live again."

John kept watching Sherlock's chair, sipping his tea again. He didn't answer her, letting out a long breath once he heard her footsteps going downstairs. He had lived because Sherlock was here. Was he supposed to go back to the boring, empty life from before Sherlock? He didn't know if he could stand it. 

Then there was a knock at the door.

John looked around at the sound, standing when the door opened and he saw Mycroft before him. "Please, don't --" he said. "I tried to talk him down. You know I did. Don't come here and make me feel worse."

Mycroft did not respond to John's comment but instead shut the door behind him. He looked round. "The flat needs a clean, Doctor Watson," he said. "It smells like someone's died in here."

John's jaw tensed, anger boiling in his chest. "What are you doing here?" he asked, trying to keep his voice in control. His hand was clenching and unclenching beside him. 

"I've got something for you," Mycroft said, keeping his voice quite business-like. "I am entirely against this idea, but I have been told to give you this." He pulled an envelope out of his jacket. "It's from him. Do you want it?"

The anger drained out of John so quickly that he actually shivered, cold dread replacing it as he looked at the letter. How long had Sherlock been planning this? It couldn't have been a quick decision if he'd taken the time to write a letter and get it to his brother. John didn't know if he could stand to read the words on that paper. He stepped forward and took the letter from Mycroft. 

Mycroft looked closely at John's face and then left the flat.

John stared at the envelope in his slightly shaking hands. When did he write this? Had he been working on this while they were in the flat together? John rubbed his face hard, sinking down into his chair again. His eyes closed, as he felt the weight of the letter. Was it long? A suicide note. Didn’t seem like Sherlock's style, but neither did suicide. Maybe John hadn't really known him at all. He opened his eyes and peeled the envelope open, taking out the single sheet inside. He swallowed hard as he unfolded it, reading the words on the page. 

_John,_   
_I'm alive._   
_SH_


	2. Anger

John felt like he was going to be sick. Grief and anger bubbled up in his chest, and his hands were shaking more than ever. He stood up and grabbed his jacket, storming out of the flat. He hailed a cab and barked out the address, the letter still clutched his hands. When they pulled up to the Diogenes Club he stormed inside, ignoring the rules and the horrified looks as he shouted for Mycroft. 

Mycroft came out front and quickly ushered John into a side room, shutting the door behind them. "Get yourself under control," he said sharply. "I knew you couldn't be trusted to stay under control." 

"What the hell is this?" John snapped, ignoring the comments. He shook the letter at Mycroft. "If this is supposed to be some kind of joke, I swear to God, Mycroft…"

"Keep your voice down, Doctor Watson," Mycroft said sharply. "When was the last time you saw me participate in a 'joke'?" 

"Explain this to me," John demanded, pushing the letter out at him.

"I don't know what the letter said, but if you mean explain his being alive, the answer is that he was never dead," Mycroft said flatly.

John blinked at him. "I saw …I saw him. I saw it happen…" 

"I know what you saw," Mycroft said. "But now you see the letter and you see me telling you the truth. Things have…changed."

John's breathing was becoming fast and shallow. He couldn't understand. He watched Sherlock step up to the ledge and jump. He looked down at the letter. "Is he alive?" 

"Yes," Mycroft said. "It's what you wanted, right? Now go home and feel pleased." He turned them both towards the door but before he opened it, he said, "This information stays between us. It's of national, no, global importance -- do you understand? This is much bigger than a silly lovers spat. You have to keep this information to yourself and you have to keep yourself under control. You cannot begin to understand the consequences if you do not." He looked at John for some kind of confirmation before opening the door.

"I want more than this, Mycroft. I will keep my mouth shut, of course, but I want to talk to him. Something," John said.

"I'm afraid that's out of the question," Mycroft said. He looked over at John's face, reading it carefully. "I could possibly get a message to him -- possibly -- but I suggest you think long and hard before you communicate with him, John." His voice was suddenly a bit softer. "There is no scheduled date of return, and . . . he's not on holiday, so perhaps take a little time before making your decision, yes?"

"I want to talk to him. I will have a letter soon, whenever you can get it to him." John swallowed hard and offered a small smile, more like a twitch of his mouth, to convey his thank you before leaving. 

"Perhaps reaching me by phone would be easier than stomping in here, making a scene," Mycroft said, his voice back to normal. "Goodbye, Doctor Watson," he added and made his way back into bowels of the club.

John left the club quietly, holding Sherlock's letter and reading the few lines over and over until he got home. He sat at the desk, trying not to think about Mrs Hudson as he started work on his letter. It was hard to know where to start, but once he finally got going, it came out and after reading it a few times and making a few changes, it was done. He got it to Mycroft and now all John could do was wait, but he wasn't sure for what exactly. He didn't know how long it was going to take. He didn't know when Mycroft would deliver. He didn't know when -- or if -- Sherlock would write back. He wished he didn't have to go through Mycroft, but he knew this was necessary. Now all he could do was wait. 

In the mean time he had to keep his anxiety looking more like the grief from the last couple weeks. No one else knew, and when he saw Mrs Hudson or Lestrade he'd have to pretend to be feeling it still. Of course, as he waited to hear from Mycroft or Sherlock, this turned out to be rather easy to do as he began to doubt everything again. For all he knew, Mycroft had simply tossed his letter onto the fire.


	3. Connection

Sherlock was staring at his laptop, trying to map the movements of the man he was chasing. Suddenly he heard a ping, which meant a message from Mycroft. They were using a gaming site to communicate through, and Sherlock had minimised the box as the site's choice of theme (an obnoxious orange and green) was doing his head in.

_I've made your delivery._

Sherlock stared at the words and filled with anger at his situation and jealousy at Mycroft's. His brother had just seen John. Sherlock wanted to see John. He missed him so much. More than he'd expected to.

_And was the recipient pleased?_

_It was hard to tell._

Sherlock wasn't sure if that meant Mycroft couldn't read John or if John wasn't actually pleased.

_Just tell me if he is all right._

_He has sent something in return._

_Get it to me asap._

_You know where to find it._

Sherlock closed the message box and logged onto the storage site. He saw the file in his private folder, but it required a password to open. Sherlock typed it in and the scanned file opened. He immediately recognised John's handwriting, and he thought for a moment he might cry. He wiped at his eyes just in case and read the letter.

 _Sherlock,_  
_When you come home, I am going to kill you. You can't even imagine what I have been through recently, thanks to your 'trick'. I don't understand how or why, but Mycroft confirmed that what your letter said is true, so here I am, writing to a 'dead' person._  
_I'll keep it a secret, so you don't have to worry about that, and I won't mention anyone else in my letters because they're not taking it well either and I don't want you worried and losing your focus. I'm sure that made you roll your eyes, but you just don't understand. I appreciate you telling me the truth, even though I don't know why you've done all of this. Mycroft alluded to the idea that you're somewhere dangerous so I can make some assumptions. However, now that you've gone through the trouble to tell me that you're alive, please just come home._  
_John_

Sherlock read it a few more times. He could hear John's voice in his head. He missed that voice -- he wanted to hear it for real -- but this would have to do for now. He needed to think. He opened the messenger again and sent a note to Mycroft.

_Will have a reply tomorrow morning. Make arrangements for easier exchanges._


	4. Communication

_John,_  
_The aggressive tone of your letter perfectly captured our usual interactions and for that I am grateful. I am very focused on my work, which is complicated and stressful, but your threat to murder me was a nice reminder of home. Which I miss greatly._  
_SH_

__________________________________________  
_

_Sherlock,_  
_While we're speaking of being grateful, I will say only once that that's how I feel now that I know we can communicate. I am hoping to hear from you so frequently that my gratitude becomes obvious. I still can't believe this; a part of me is wondering if Mycroft is drafting letters to keep me quiet, but like you said, I can hear a bit of your voice in them and I doubt he could mimic it so convincingly._  
_Can you tell me about your work? I've not gone back to the surgery yet. I took time off to 'grieve' and in all honesty, I still don't know quite how to go back to real life without you here. I hope you're keeping safe._  
_John_

___________________________________________

_John,_  
_No, I cannot tell you about my work._  
_Please do not use me to skive off of work. That is shameful behaviour._  
_Mycroft is not writing these letters, though he is reading them. Because he is an imperfect man with a food addiction and an inability to respect my privacy. He no doubt grimaced with shame as he read that line, because he knows it is true._  
_I do not have a blogger here, for obvious reasons. I wish I did. I wish I had you._  
_SH_

___________________________________________

_Sherlock,_  
_I wish that I was there too, wherever that may be. I can't help but feel like I could help in some way, but I guess no one else believes that or you wouldn't have done what you did. I wish you'd had faith in me. I wish a lot of things actually._  
_If I can't use you to miss work then you can't use the letters to make fun of Mycroft (even if it is a bit fun -- Sorry, Mycroft. Please deliver my letter). The criminals are going mad but don't worry -- I have it all under control._  
_John_

___________________________________________

_John,_  
_Please do not attempt to solve anything while I am gone. You are clever, but not as clever as I am. Do not let my absence convince you that you are._  
_Could I please ask a medical question? Could you recommend a product to use on open wounds if appropriate medication is not available?_  
_Do not read anything into that question._  
_Is Mrs Hudson all right?_  
_SH_

___________________________________________

_Sherlock,_  
_It's too late. I've already solved 30 cases._  
_Also, I'm offended that you don't know me well enough to know that of course I am reading into that question. I assume you'll be about as forthcoming with details as your brother is -- I still don't know how these letters are getting to you -- so I have sent along medicated gauze. Just cover them up and the gauze will do the work. Please, please be more careful._  
_Mrs Hudson is doing okay. She comes up here a lot and touches your chair. She sits with me for tea and she tells me good memories to help me through it. I feel bad for her, but I still haven't told. I don't think you truly understand what all this has done to everyone. Mrs Hudson keeps making unusual comments about us. I'm not sure what she means._  
_Be safe._  
_John_

___________________________________________

_John,_  
_Be careful with Mrs Hudson. She's more clever than she looks. Perhaps you should discourage her from remembering me at all. Unless you enjoy the conversations._  
_I cannot pretend that my previous question was for someone else. I do not know anyone else here. However, please do not worry about my injury. Again, unless you enjoy doing so. I have learned now that worry comes with friendship, but to be honest, I don't particularly enjoy that part._  
_I have had my haircut. I look quite different actually, though I think you would recognise me._  
_SH_

___________________________________________

_Sherlock,_  
_Sorry for the delay. I have gone back to work and, as there's no cases, I am picking up a lot more shifts. It keeps me busy, which is good, I guess. Mrs Hudson has cut down on the stories -- I think because she took my going back to work as a sign that I was getting better. I catch her crying sometimes, so I let her catch me sleeping in your room to make things even._  
_Of course I would recognise you, but perhaps you should come home so we can test the theory. Is your work almost finished? Can I help speed it up? I'll admit that I'm lonely. Hurry home. Safely, of course._  
_John_

__________________________________________  
_

_John,_  
_Before I left, I swept the flat for any embarrassing information, so I trust you have not bothered going through my things. However, I confess I had not considered your sleeping in my bed. This information is intriguing to me, though I'm not entirely sure why. Was this a nap or did you sleep the whole night through?_  
_If you are lonely, perhaps you should scroll through your phone contacts. I'm sure you can find at least one woman there who would be willing to see you again. Perhaps you will have better luck with your dates without my interrupting them for something much more important than awkward flirting over the dinner table._  
_I too am lonely. My work here is not done._  
_SH_

___________________________________________

_Sherlock,_  
_I have found everything there was to find in your room, and I have to say, shame on you. I'm joking, of course. I slept the whole night. I'm sleeping better now at least, thanks to knowing the truth. The nights before your letter I had awful nightmares. Of course, I still do sometimes when I think about what might happen to you out there, but I try to keep them under control._  
_If you must know I did go on a date and, ironically, all she wanted to talk about was you. Everyone knows we were close, and it seems they want all the details. I haven't tried again since then._  
_Can you at least tell me why we had to go through this whole dramatic process?_  
_John_

___________________________________________

_John,_  
_I have changed my mind. Perhaps you should not go on any more dates while I am gone._  
_I am sorry about the nightmares. I apologise for being the cause and for not being there to help._  
_Moriarty is the reason. He will not destroy us._  
_SH_

___________________________________________

_Sherlock,_  
_I'm afraid I've been on two more dates before I got your letter, but they were the same as the first. I have now really given up._  
_You couldn't do anything about the nightmares. Like you said, they are the result of worrying which comes with friendship._  
_I don't understand what you're doing about him there that you couldn't be doing here, but I suppose again that's why I haven't been asked to help. Greg called for a case -- maybe he forgot it was just me or maybe he felt sorry for me. I went along regardless, and I have to say you really missed out. Double murder, doors locked from the inside. I'll keep you posted._  
_John_

___________________________________________

_John,_  
_I said no more dates. Not even with Lestrade._  
_SH_

___________________________________________

_Sherlock,_  
_What a waste of a letter. Obviously I'm not on a date with Greg and really you're the only person who considers a crime scene as such. You'll be happy to know they found the guy. I won't tell who it was because you were being mean to me._  
_John_

___________________________________________

_John,_  
_You were the one being mean, trying to make me jealous. Which worked by the way. Please do not take him to all our favourite murder spots._  
_Will you write about the case on the blog? Please check with Mycroft if this would be permitted._  
_I miss you._  
_SH_

___________________________________________

_Sherlock,_  
_I don't write anything in the blog anymore. I feel it's adding to my cover of being stricken with grief, and in all honesty it still does make me feel quite sad. Besides, I couldn't write about a case you didn't have a part in. The readers would riot._  
_John_

___________________________________________

_John,_  
_I should begin by saying I have been drinking. It is nothing for you (or you, Mycroft) to worry about. I have been having trouble sleeping, and I thought it might help. I think it shall._  
_I agree that you should not post on the blog. You are right about maintaining your cover. The blog is about us. It's ours. I read it quite frequently and do not want to see something there about you solving cases without me. About you without me._  
_I'm also wondering if perhaps I should say that I would prefer if you not speak to anyone else until I return. I do not know how long this will be, but if you could do this small favour for me, I would greatly appreciate it._  
_Good night, John. I am sleepy now._  
_SH_

___________________________________________

_Sherlock,_  
_I will worry about the drinking because I feel like the kind of job you're doing requires you to have your wits about you. I'll tell you again to be careful because I'm not there to make sure of it._  
_I did try to comply with your request for silence, but only made it one day. I hope that's enough because if I don't speak to anyone, I will go mad. Never mind overcoming the difficulty of treating patients without saying a word._  
_Anderson has started investigating your death. He feels guilty and he's determined to prove it's a hoax. I thought you would find that amusing._  
_John_

___________________________________________

_John,_  
_I always have my wits about me._  
_I am not worried about Anderson._  
_It's not your speaking to patients that worries me._  
_If you do have to speak to others, must you flaunt it to me in each letter?_  
_SH_

___________________________________________

_Sherlock,_  
_Anderson came by and demanded to search the place, sure that you were hiding in the closet and biding your time to jump out and surprise him. You'll be glad to know I told him I'm not allowed to speak to him and sent him away. He probably thinks I've gone mad in my grief. This is all quite mad, Sherlock, you know that, right?_  
_Mrs Hudson was here for tea earlier, and would you believe she said the flat was too clean? She started crying softly so I knocked a stack of papers all over the floor. You can clean them up when you get back._  
_Your letters are taking longer to reach me and it worries me. I hope you're actually trying to be careful, just a little bit. I miss you very much. I slept in your room again._  
_John_

___________________________________________

_John,_  
_I am being careful. I was unable to get to a computer for a while, but I am safe now._  
_If I return, I expect my bedroom to look the same. Whatever you are doing there, remember that it is still my room._  
_If at all possible, could you please send an article of your clothing with Mycroft the next time you see him? I need it for DNA research I am working on._  
_So you do not worry, I will be moving around in the near future so my responses may be delayed._  
_SH_

___________________________________________

_Sherlock,_  
_Don't say if you return. I don't like that. Say when. Please, Sherlock, give me that. I know you're not dead, but don't think for a moment I'm all right with any of this._  
_What are you testing? Why are you always doing experiments on me, even from across the world (I assume)? I've passed along an old black and white jumper, but Mycroft looked thoroughly annoyed so I don't know if it's going to make it to you. Despite my whinging, I do want your experiment to be a success so I wore it all day before I gave it to him._  
_I can't wait for your next letter._  
_John_

___________________________________________

_John,_  
_Thank you for the jumper. It smells of you and home. This means much to me._  
_I apologise for my poor choice of words. Of course I will return. I have just been very tired and perhaps sentiment was getting to me._  
_It's been too long since I was in London. The noises here are different and not to my liking._  
_It's very late and I cannot sleep again, but I am following doctor's orders and will not have anything to drink (also I have nothing in to drink)._  
_It feels like forever since I last saw you._  
_SH_

___________________________________________

_Sherlock,_  
_I'm glad that the jumper meant something nice for you. I forget that, here at home, I have the luxury of smelling you all over the place, and I have taken it for granted. I slept in your room again, but I am afraid if I keep it up it will lose everything of you in there, so I am trying to stop. It's late here as well. I slept for only a little bit, but now that I am up, I can't do so again. I'm afraid I upset Mrs Hudson. She came in here and made a comment about the rent, and I thought she was suggesting that I find a new flatmate. I shouted at her. I will have to go apologise in the morning -- I don't think that's what she meant at all._  
_Ignore that smear on the writing --I fell asleep on your letter last night. I spoke with Mrs Hudson today and I had misread her comment. She started crying because she made me think such a thing. If you could hurry up and come back that would be really helpful. I really, really miss you, Sherlock._  
_John_

___________________________________________

_John,_  
_I'm sorry it's been so long since I last wrote. Although it is not yet over, there have been successes though they've come at a cost._  
_I hope that everything has calmed down with Mrs Hudson. You must keep the family at Baker Street together until I am there to take charge again (which I know you love so please do not pretend you do not)._  
_A quick question: how long until stitches can be removed (they are not the dissolving kind)? Asking purely out of curiosity obviously._  
_SH_

___________________________________________

_Sherlock,_  
_Everything with Mrs Hudson is okay again. I wish I could tell her, but I know that I can't. It's hard watching people be sad over something I know isn't real. Although your question worries me that it could turn real very quickly. I'm scared. I don't know what the cost is exactly for your success -- Mycroft promised me he would keep a closer eye on you and yet here you are with stitches. When the skin no longer looks raw and it has mended together, you can pull them out. I am trying to pretend that you cut your finger making yourself a hearty dinner, but it's not working very well. Please. You have put me through so much. I don't ask you for much, Sherlock (and don't start shouting about the nagging because I am only looking out for your health and you know it's true) but I am asking you to come home. Whatever is left to do, we can do it together. Please?_  
_John_

___________________________________________

_John,_  
_You figured me out: I had cooked such a feast and cut my finger. I am three stone heavier and the wound has since healed. Do not worry._  
_You haven't mentioned any dates. Are you just keeping them secret from me since I behaved so inappropriately last time? I apologise for that. Please do not keep secrets -- I know this is rich coming from me, but mine are due to safety not emotions._  
_I am very tired. I have an early morning appointment but have not been able to fall asleep yet._  
_Do not change, John. Please._  
_SH_

___________________________________________

_Sherlock,_  
_I know you're lying to me but I appreciate the effort. I am still worrying. You are right. I didn't mention them because you were so upset. It was just one, and she didn't ask about you and she seemed interested in me and that was nice. I've seen her a couple times now. I like her, but I can't tell how it is going. I won't let her come to the flat and she is finding that really suspicious. I don't want to bring her here. I miss you. Be safe._  
_John_

___________________________________________

_John,_  
_Stop seeing her._  
_SH_

___________________________________________

_Sherlock,_  
_I always love getting your letters. Really. But your last one was very ridiculous._  
_John_

___________________________________________

_Sherlock,_  
_Okay. I am sorry I called your letter ridiculous. Are you pouting? For the first time in my life I really hope that you're just being a pouty baby. Please write back._  
_John_

___________________________________________

_Sherlock,_  
_I don't know what's going on. Mycroft won't tell me anything and it's been so long since I've heard from you. Please send me something -- anything at all, Sherlock. I'll admit I'm scared. I presume you travel and I know you can't control your computer access, but this is too long, Sherlock._  
_Will it help if I tell you I broke up with that woman? If you're ignoring me because I was seeing someone, that's very cruel of you especially since it's no longer true. If I've not received a letter for another reason . . . I can't even write it down. I haven't slept in a while, Sherlock. Please tell me you're okay. Mycroft, if you're reading, please -- someone tell me what's going on._  
_John_

___________________________________________

_John,_  
_There has been much going on and I've not had access to a computer. I asked Mycroft to at least update you briefly, but it appears he has not, which I can only assume is due to security concerns and not his childish behaviour._  
_I am writing this on the one year anniversary of our parting, John. I did not think it would take this long. There was so much about this experience that I did not expect. Moriarty's circle is large and complex, but that surprises me less than how terribly, terribly lonely I am._  
_Before you, I was always alone but never lonely. Before you, everything was different._  
_You are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me, John Watson, and I hope one day that I am able to thank you for all you've given me and apologise for all I have taken from you._  
_SH_

___________________________________________

_Sherlock,_  
_It was so good to get your letter that I may have cried. If you laugh I'll punch you right in your eye. I missed hearing from you. And, despite the happiness your letter has brought me, it makes me sad as well because it sounds like something is going to happen and I can't handle that. I would rather believe you have gone sentimental._  
_Please, come home. This has been a long year, well thirteen months now. Please, Sherlock. I miss you._  
_John_

___________________________________________


	5. Change

Sherlock woke to a pounding on the door of his small room. He had barely fallen asleep -- could it be morning already? He dragged himself from his bed, which was also his sofa and makeshift desk. He picked up the cricket bat the leaned against the wall under his coat and moved to the door.

"What?" he asked loudly.

"Open the door, brother," Mycroft's voice said from the other side.

Sherlock replaced the bat and unlocked the door. "Why are you here?" he asked, rubbing his hand over his face and taking a deep breath. Then he looked up quickly. "Am I going home? But it's not over yet . . . but am I going home?" he rambled.

"I'm afraid not," Mycroft replied as he stepped around Sherlock and frowned at the state of the place. "As you just said, it's not over yet."

"Then why are you here?" Sherlock asked, moving over to turn on the kettle. "Do you have something from John?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "No, I'm afraid I've got no romantic trinkets from your Romeo," he said. "There's no time for tea. You need to pack up your things now."

"Why? Where am I going?"

"Deeper," Mycroft said. "We need to end this once and for all."

Sherlock looked closely at his brother's face and began packing.

A few hours later, Mycroft watched Sherlock board the train. He was holding some of his brother's belongings, including his laptop and phone. In his pocket, he had a note for John, on which Sherlock had scribbled one word: _Soon_. Mycroft turned and walked out, moving to get into the car that was waiting for him. When it dropped him off at the airport, he left the crumpled note on the backseat.


	6. Panic

_Sherlock,_  
_I haven't heard from you in a while again. I don't like that. I really wish you would be more punctual in your writing. If you haven't noticed, it's easier to blame you for being rude than consider the alternative. Please just let this delay be down to your being thoughtless._  
_John_

___________________________________________

_Sherlock,_  
_I went to find your brother to give him the note, and he wasn't at his office. I asked around, but you know how those people are with talking. I miss you and I'm getting scared. Come home to me._  
_John_

___________________________________________

_Sherlock,_  
_I still can't find your brother and I don't know what's happening to you. Is he just tired of delivering messages? Is he playing a trick on me? I can't handle another trick. My heart is hurting, Sherlock._  
_John_

___________________________________________

_Sherlock,_  
_I was up all night in your bed._  
_John_

___________________________________________

_Sherlock,_  
_Mycroft still hasn't contacted me. He isn't anywhere and you're not here and I'm terrified. If something happened -- I can't again, Sherlock. I can't. When you died before, I didn't get the chance to say goodbye. Now I worry I will miss that chance again._  
_John_

___________________________________________

_Sherlock,_  
_I continue to add to this letter as I wait to find Mycroft, but in my heart, I don't think this letter is going to reach you, and I will never forgive myself for hesitating a second time. When you were on the roof I almost told you, but it all seemed to happen so fast. And then, with the letters, I thought you would be home, and I thought when we saw each other, you would just know without my having to say._  
_But now it seems I've lost you again. I don't know if I can survive this again._  
_I love you, Sherlock. I should have said it before, but I am saying it now. I love you. Come home._  
_John_


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock watched the flat's door from the coffee shop across the street. It'd been too long since he'd sent that final note with Mycroft, and he was worried that John would be angry about that. He had enough sense to know that their reunion would need to take place indoors, in private, but he couldn't risk seeing Mrs Hudson. Even though he was surrounded by noisy customers in the shop, Sherlock couldn't see or hear them. John was the first and only person Sherlock wanted to see.

When he watched Mrs Hudson leave, he quickly crossed the street and slipped inside the door marked 221. He stood for a moment, remembering, and then moved quietly up the stairs. When he stepped into the flat, he inhaled deeply. It was all real. This was their flat. He was home. 

He moved into the kitchen and turned on the kettle. He'd checked John's work schedule and knew he'd be home within the hour. He saw John's mug on the table and smiled. He lifted it and noticed the paper it was sitting on. It was covered in John's handwriting. He read through the letter John had spent the last two months writing. He felt tears fall down his cheek. It broke his heart to know how much he had hurt John. Then he heard a noise from behind his bedroom door. Someone was in the flat. 

He moved quietly to the door, pushing it open softly. He saw John sleeping in his bed. His heart stopped, not understanding why John was home before realising that didn't matter. What did matter is that he was home and Sherlock had to do something. He stood there stupidly for a moment, not knowing quite what to do. And finally he found his breath and said the word that had been in his head constantly since he'd last stood in this room. He said, "John."

John shifted and blinked his eyes open. He turned around and looked towards the door. He saw Sherlock. He blinked hard and then turned back over. Hallucinations. Wonderful.

Sherlock realised he was still crying as he said John's name aloud again. He walked over and sat down on the bed. "I'm home," he said. He reached over and set his hand on the covers over John's legs. "I'm so sorry for how I've hurt you…"

John sat up sharply, afraid to believe what he was seeing. Hallucinations didn’t sit hard enough to sink the bed. 

Sherlock moved over and wrapped his arms around John. He leaned his forehead against John's to look in his eyes. "I love you, John," he said. "I do." He pressed a soft, tentative kiss on John's mouth.

John kissed back. His hands touched Sherlock's hair and jaw and neck, his chest and around to his back, all over to confirm he was real. "I thought you died. For real. I thought . . . god, I was heart broken," he said. 

"I had no way to contact you . . . I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Sherlock mumbled into the kisses. He leaned into John, so that both of them fell back onto the bed. "I just want to be by you," he said as he moved to kick off his shoes and crawl into the bed next to John. He tangled their bodies together. "God, how I've missed you," he said, lightly stroking John's face.

"Are you . . . are you home for good?" John asked, still unable to take it all in.

"Nothing will ever take me away from you," Sherlock said. "You are my home and I will not leave you again."

They lay quietly for a few moments. Finally, John asked, "Are you okay? Are you hurt? Are you safe?"

"I'm all those things . . . in a while we will get up and sort them and talk and explain, but for now, let's just lie beside each other," Sherlock whispered. "Please . . ."

John nodded, touching Sherlock's face again. "Okay," he murmured. "Does anyone else know you're here?" he asked softly. 

"Just my brother," Sherlock said. "I'm just yours until whenever we're ready to tell other people." He gave John a small smile and then softly kissed his mouth. "Is this okay?" he whispered.

John nodded. "I was so afraid . . ." he breathed. 

"So was I," Sherlock admitted. "But we're both safe now."

John nodded, kissing his mouth again. "You're safe," he repeated.

"And so are you," Sherlock said. He kissed John's forehead and then moved his mouth lower to kiss his neck. His hand moved around John's body to hold him. "Do you really mean it?" Sherlock asked, his lips moving softly against John's skin.

"Mean what?" John asked softly, keeping still for a moment. 

"What you wrote in that last letter," Sherlock said. "The one you didn't send."

John nodded now. "I meant everything I wrote," he said. "I love you, Sherlock. And I should have said so a long time ago."

"I love you, too, John," Sherlock said. "In a strange way, it's precisely why I had to leave. I know that doesn't seem logical, but believe me, it is." He lifted his face to John's. "I'm sorry I couldn't just tell you properly."

John stared up at his eyes. "I'm glad you told me at all," he murmured. "I don't know what I would have done . . . it was so hard not knowing what was happening."

"You would have figured it out, John," Sherlock said. "Our partnership is like no other . . . you would have figured out the reason."

"No, I mean, if you had . . . I just thought I lost you again before I had the chance to tell you," John said. 

"You're never going to lose me, John Watson," Sherlock said, smiling. "I know I've not given you a lot of reason to trust that, but it's true."

John smiled up at him. "I trust you, Sherlock. I love you," he said again. 

"I'll do better, John," Sherlock whispered. "So I can deserve it."

John shook his head, bringing his hand up to touch Sherlock's cheek lightly. "You do deserve it, Sherlock."

Sherlock shook his head a little. "You know what I mean, John," he said. "I cannot change who I am but I can be a bit better."

"Well, just do that here at home, okay?"

"I kind of don't ever want to leave the flat again," Sherlock said smiling. He rolled over a little on the bed. "Why are you home anyway? Why didn't you go to work?"

John bit his lip. "I thought you died. Again," he added. "I couldn't do anything…I was struggling…" he said. It was a major understatement, but he didn't have a word strong enough to explain how he felt. 

"I'm sorry…" Sherlock said again. He turned again and curled around John. "I'm sorry for all the sadness."

"I know why you did it. Well, not exactly but you know," he said. 

"He's dead," Sherlock said sharply.

John flinched lightly. "Who? Moriarty?" 

"Yes," Sherlock said. "He's dead and it's all over."

John swallowed hard. "It's all over now," he repeated gently. 

Sherlock looked closely at John. "It is," he said and leaned in to kiss his mouth. "And now this has begun."

John kissed back softly and nodded.

"Should we stay here for a bit, in bed I mean?" Sherlock asked. "I'm exhausted actually, but I don't want you to leave the room. Can we just lie here for a while?"

John nodded. "You can sleep, if you like. I won't leave."

Sherlock pulled back a bit and unbuttoned his shirt and undid his trousers, sliding his clothes from his body and throwing them onto the floor. He snuggled against John and closed his eyes.

John rubbed Sherlock's back as he got comfortable, closing his own eyes.

Sherlock jerked slightly at John's touch. "Careful," he whispered but kept his eyes closed, hoping John wouldn't ask why but knowing he probably would.

John's hand stilled immediately. "Sherlock -- should I get my medical bag before you fall asleep?" he asked softly.

"No, I'm fine," Sherlock mumbled. Then he opened one eye and looked at John. "You can look at it when we get up, okay? I know you want to."

John swallowed hard, fighting the urge to get up now and look. "Okay," he said. 

"We're safe now, remember?" Sherlock said, resting an arm across John's chest. "Stop fretting. Go to sleep."

"I can't stop," John grumbled softly. He took a deep breath and nodded. 

"I'm home, John, we're together," Sherlock said as he let his fingers tickle over John's face. "Think about that instead." He smiled as he closed his eyes again.

John closed his eyes against the touch. "I've thought so much about that, I can't believe it's finally happening," he said, scooting just a bit closer to him. 

"It is," Sherlock whispered, as he began to fall asleep. "I'm home with you."


	8. Love

When Sherlock opened his eyes, he was looking at John. It was real. He was home. He pushed his shoulder lightly. "John," he said.

"Wha--?" John asked, waking up a bit sharply. Then he remembered what was happening and who was waking him. "Sherlock," he sighed. 

"Right," Sherlock said. "So a little while ago, I'm not sure if you remember, but there was…" He moved his hand between them. "…some kissing going on. Is that the kind of thing you'd like to keep doing?"

John smiled sleepily. "Yes, I'd like to keep doing that."

"Good," Sherlock said. "I would as well." He stretched a little. "I think this is the world's most comfortable bed."

"I now know that first day you tricked me and took the good bed," John teased. 

"I'm sure yours is equally comfortable. I just meant compared to where I've been . . ." Sherlock's voice trailed off and he pushed himself up a bit. "Should we get up then or what? I've still haven't had a cup of tea."

"Oh," John said, sobering a bit. "Yes. Right," he said. He sat up and stretched. "I should look at your back, Sherlock."

"I figured as much," Sherlock said. "Tea first…please." He pulled his most pathetic face and turned slightly as if John could only look if he first paid to by bringing a cup of tea.

John raised his brows and nodded. "Okay. Let me go get it," he said. He stood and went to the kitchen to start the kettle. 

Sherlock lay back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling he'd stared up at so many times before. He'd missed it. He'd missed every single thing in this room, in this flat.

John came back quickly with tea and toast, climbing back into bed. 

Sherlock took the mug. He wrapped his hands around it and slowly tipped it to his mouth, swallowing a big gulp. "Gorgeous," he said. "This is the best tea I've ever had."

John laughed softly. "Well, I'm glad you feel that way."

"It's so good, you should probably do everything in your power to keep my cup full for the next week," Sherlock suggested.

"Well, I will try my best but there's a lot of things on my list already," John said. 

"What's on your list? What list? Is something happening? You don't have a date tonight, do you?" Sherlock rambled. All of a sudden it became so clear -- he'd missed so much. He'd made so many assumptions, but John's life had gone on without him here. "What's going on?" he mumbled.

John blinked at him. "No, you idiot, calm down. Items on my list include kissing you, listening to you explain why we had to go through all this, having dinner with you, sleeping by you…I just don't know when I'll have time to make tea. "

Sherlock exhaled in relief. "Well, I'm sure you'll be able to make the time," he said. He set the mug on the bedside table. "All right," he said, lying flat and rolling over on his stomach. "Just double check that they're healing properly, okay? No fussing, please."

John looked over at his back, shifting to look better. "Sherlock…" he sighed, biting his lip. "I'm going to need to clean them and put some new bandages on, okay?" he asked softly. 

"Okay," Sherlock said quietly. He wished this didn't have to happen, but he trusted John.

John went to get his medical bag, coming back and getting to work quietly. It was obvious Sherlock had tried to look after these injuries on his own. He winced as he worked, apologising every few seconds. 

"I'm the one who is sorry," Sherlock mumbled.

"For what?" John asked, putting new, clean bandages on. 

"For everything," Sherlock said. He was crying but trying to be as quiet as possible.

John finished the last bandage and leaned down to kiss Sherlock's head, petting his hair. "You're home now, okay? It's okay now."

"But will it be, John?" Sherlock asked, keeping his face buried in the pillow. "I don't know about all these things…feelings, I mean. I tried to protect you and look how I hurt you…"

"Sherlock, no one really knows about that stuff. We all do the best we can," John said. 

"John, you know about that stuff or at least you know more than I do," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry…" He wiped his face and the pillow and then sat up a bit. "I should get dressed," he mumbled as he reached for his clothes.

John touched both of his cheeks and met his gaze. "I love you, Sherlock. I don't want you to worry about I'll change how I feel. That will always be true," he said. 

"But why…" Sherlock started and then stopped. He looked at John. "I promise I'll try to take care of you and be…good, like you are."

John kissed his forehead, his cheek, and down to his mouth. "You are good, Sherlock. Please trust me."

Sherlock let John kiss him and then he kissed him back. He put his hands around the back of John's head, holding him tightly. "I love you, too," he said and then kissed him again.

John sighed into this kiss, stepping closer between Sherlock's legs, wrapping both arms around his neck. 

"All right, come on," Sherlock said. "Let's get up and move about a bit. Maybe you could make me something proper to eat." He stood up and got himself dressed.

John smiled. "You really mean it?" he asked with exaggerated enthusiasm. 

"Probably," Sherlock said. "I might change my mind by the time we get to the kitchen, but I suppose I'm a bit hungry."

John smiled and kissed him again before moving back so Sherlock could dress and stand up. 

Once he was dressed Sherlock stopped in the bathroom to use the toilet and rinse his face with water. He noticed John's shampoo on the shelf, and he opened it, taking a deep inhale of the smell. Then he put it back and found John in the kitchen. "Can we get away with staying in the flat all day?" he said. "Will Mrs Hudson come up? Obviously I want to see her but all of this will be quite…big and I'm just not ready for that yet."

"We can stay in the flat all day. But she comes up unexpectedly so we should lock the doors," John said. 

"Fine," Sherlock said, sitting down at the table. "So the plan is let's not talk about all that business yet and instead we'll try to be as normal as possible, okay?"

"Uh, sure," John said, mixing the soup he had going. 

Sherlock stood up and moved quietly to the sitting room. He looked around a little just taking it all in. Then he sat down in his chair. Suddenly he felt tears come again, but did his best to wipe them away. "What's that you're making?" he called, trying to focus on what was happening in this moment.

"Just some chicken noodle soup," John called back to him. "Find something on the telly, if you want."

Sherlock moved over to the sofa and flicked through the channels. When John brought the soup over, he ate it rather enthusiastically and then settled back, lifting his legs to rest on the table. "Thanks for that," he said.

"Sure, any time," John smiled. He sat close to Sherlock, settling in to watch whatever was on.

They sat quietly together for while, just staring at the television. It crossed Sherlock's mind that it was just like before, like nothing had happened. But of course he knew it wasn't really like before and that a lot had happened. He had hurt John more than he could have possibly expected and then John's life had gone out without him. None of that could be forgotten, but he did his best not to think about it now. It would all have to be dealt with, but perhaps they really could just have this one day without it. After a while, Sherlock leaned over a bit, resting his head on John's shoulder.

John shifted so he could wrap his arm around Sherlock better, rubbing his hand lightly. 

Sherlock felt comfortable -- he also felt comforted. These were things he hadn't felt in a long time. After a little while he started to doze a bit. He thought about getting another cup of tea to try to wake himself up, but instead said, "John, I think I might need to lie down again. Would you come with me?"

"Sure," John said, shutting the telly off. 

"Your room or mine?" Sherlock asked.

"Yours," John smiled. "If you don't mind. I wasn't lying about the more comfortable bed," he said. 

Sherlock led the way into his room, stripping off his clothes and putting his pajamas on. He crawled into the bed, lying on his side to watch John get in as well. Then he lay flat and looked up at the ceiling. "Remember before…before all this happened?" he asked wistfully.

John nodded. "Yeah," he smiled. 

"It was good before…perfect really," Sherlock continued. "I didn't appreciate it while I was here or I didn't let myself appreciate it…and then it was gone."

"But it's not gone forever, Sherlock. You're home. We can have it again. 

"I just mean while I was away…" Sherlock said still staring upwards. "I was filled with regret for not cherishing every moment of it."

John nodded. "Me too. And I felt guilty," he admitted.

"I hated everything about being away," Sherlock said. "I did -- the chase and the work, I didn't even enjoy that part of it. Because of you." He turned and looked over at John. "I hated it all because I couldn't be with you."

John reached out and touched his cheek lightly, rubbing with his thumb. "I wish I could have been there to help."

"You did help . . ." Sherlock said. "Because you gave me memories which kept me sane. You live in my Mind Palace now and I could go there and be with you again."

John smiled. "I don't have anything like that, but I did think of you all the time. And the letters helped," he said. 

"Somewhat," Sherlock said. "Except for when you insisted on sharing every detail of every single woman you seduced while I was gone." He looked up at the ceiling again. "I suppose that's when I realised I loved you."

John let his hand rest between them. "Hmm. You mean I knew something before you?" he teased lightly. 

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked, turning himself to face John.

"I knew I loved you long before that."

"What?" Sherlock said. "When did this happen? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I realised it when I was trying to talk you down," he said. "But it all happened to quickly and I couldn't -- I didn't get a chance. And then I was…lonely in that way, I guess."

"Even though you were going on dates the whole time?"

"It wasn't the whole time! I told you after that first one I didn't anymore because they all asked about you. I don't know what made me try again with the last one but . . . I don't know. She wasn't you."

"That's true," Sherlock said. "No one is. So you're saying that you only loved me when you thought I was dead. I'm not sure that's very flattering actually."

"No! I loved you the whole time," he said. 

"The whole time we've known each other? You fell in love with me that first day and you said nothing?"

"No, I just meant…why are you trying to confuse me?" 

Sherlock lay back flat on the bed again. "And when you say love . . . you mean that kind of love?"

John lay on his own back and got more comfortable. It seemed this was going to take a while. "Yes. I've known it's been that kind since you left," he said. 

"Sex kind?"

John blinked up at the ceiling for a moment. "Yes. Sex kind."

"Are you entirely sure about that, John?" Sherlock asked. "Because that seems quite contrary to your previous stance on this subject."

John nodded. "I know what I said before," he said. "And I know what I am saying now."

"You are honestly saying you want to have sex with a man and that man is me?" Sherlock said. "Are you sure you don't want to rethink that?"

"I'm sure," John said calmly. "Unless you don't want to. And then I won't think about it at all."

"I might want to," Sherlock said. "I mean…I've thought about it."

John nodded. "Have you…before?" he asked.

"Done sex?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded. "Yeah."

"I suppose I have," Sherlock said. "Have you . . . I mean, with a man?"

John nodded. "A long time ago."

"You're joking," Sherlock said, genuinely surprised. "Why were always so horrible about it?"

John shrugged. "It's not anyone's business. And they went around making assumptions and it was annoying. I don't know." It seemed silly now. "It was just once a long time ago. I didn't know what it meant about me."

"And what do you think this new interest means about you?" Sherlock asked.

"That I love you," John said, still looking at the ceiling. 

"The fact that I've thought about it doesn't say anything about me but does say something about you -- I don't like people, but I like you. I love you actually, which means you are a pretty unusual human being." 

"I am okay with being unusual," John smiled, fighting turning his head to look at Sherlock. 

"I'm okay with it, too," Sherlock said softly before adding, "Would you like to kiss for a minute?"

"Just a minute?" John teased, turning on his side finally to look at Sherlock.

"We'll see how it goes," Sherlock said, also turning to face John. He put his hand on John's hip and then leaned in kissing his lips softly, allowing the kiss to linger. John pressed into the kiss, humming softly as he licked out to taste Sherlock's lips. Sherlock's hand moved up John's body to hold his cheek as he deepened his kiss, letting his tongue find John's. He scooted a bit closer so their bodies pressed together. John moaned softly, arching to press flush against Sherlock. 

"Can I touch you?" Sherlock asked tentatively.

John nodded. "Of course," he murmured, blinking his eyes open. 

Sherlock trailed his hand down John's chest over his t-shirt and let it rest at his waist. Then he slowly slipped it inside his pants, curling his fingers to hold John's cock softly. He leaned in and kissed his mouth again.

"Oh --" John gasped softly before kissing him back, moaning softly. His own hand was still roaming on Sherlock's side and chest. He moved it lower slowly. 

"Please," Sherlock mumbled as he started a slow stroke with his hand. "Touch me as well . . ."

John moved his hand faster, slipping into the elastic of Sherlock's pajama pants and then palming him after pushing his hand inside. He wrapped his fingers around his cock, stroking to match Sherlock.

"Feels good," Sherlock mumbled stupidly as he dropped his mouth to John's neck and pressed kisses there.

John nodded as well as he could while leaving his neck exposed for Sherlock. "It's amazing," he agreed. 

Sherlock kept kissing John as he moved his hand. Everything felt good -- the movement but also just the closeness. He'd missed John so much.

"Can we take everything off?" John asked, the elastic digging into his wrist as he moved his hand faster on Sherlock. 

"Yes," Sherlock said, pushing down on John's pants to try to get them off. John shifted out of his pants and pulled his shirt off, moving to help Sherlock. Soon they were both naked and Sherlock slid close again, tangling their legs as he reached to stroke John again. He pressed his mouth against John's ear and whispered, "If you want to stop…if you change your mind, it's okay."

"I don't want to stop," John assured him. He kissed Sherlock's neck, the spot he could reach with Sherlock so close. His hand was lightly stroking again. 

Sherlock began to kiss John's ear, dragging his tongue around the curves before sucking the lobe into his mouth. John shivered, his hand moving faster on Sherlock as the pleasure increased in his own body. He felt warm and excited. 

"John," Sherlock mumbled. "It's been so long…I don't know how much more I can take . . . please don't stop." He increased the speed of his own hand.

John swiped his thumb over the tip of Sherlock's cock. "I won't, love…it's so good…"

"Kiss," Sherlock mumbled and he pressed his lips against John's and then suddenly his whole body tightened and jerked and he spilled over John's hand. He squeezed his eyes shut as he did his best to keep his own hand moving on John. John pushed into the kiss, swallowing the soft sounds before he let go himself, coming with Sherlock as they kissed breathlessly. 

Sherlock slowed and then stopped all of his movements, letting his body melt against John's as he tried to catch his breath. He kept his eyes closed and exhaled, "I love you."

John wrapped his arm around Sherlock and got more comfortable. "I love you," he said. 

Sherlock moved back a little, resting on the soft bed. He lifted one hand to wipe his face. He felt like he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure what to say so he just lay there quietly. He focused on his breath. All of a sudden he felt a bit overwhelmed. He covered his face again and then through his fingers he said, "I mean it, John. I really do. I never…never…" He wasn't entirely sure what he was trying to say.

"What is it, Sherlock?" he asked softly.

Sherlock took a deep breath and turned towards John, looking deeply into his eyes. "I have never…loved like this," he said. "It scares me a little."

"I know it's different. But it's still us," he said.

Sherlock buried his face in John's chest. "God, I missed you so much," he whispered.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock. "I missed you too," he said softly. 

"We'll never be apart again, John," Sherlock said. "I promise."


	9. A Few Months Later

Sherlock had been researching all day. He glanced up at the clock -- John would be home soon. He closed things up and had one more cup of tea before getting up, stretching, and then going to shower. He got himself dressed and moved back into the kitchen, turning the kettle back on and getting out two cups.

John hurried out of work. He never stayed late anymore now that Sherlock was home. He got a taxi and texted Sherlock that he was on his way. It wasn't a long drive, but he liked sending the message anyway. At the flat, he made his way up, smiling as he heard the kettle going. Excellent. "Sherlock?" 

Sherlock came out of his room, smiling. "Hey," he said. He poured the tea and moved into the sitting room. "You've got a day off tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah," John smiled. He moved closer and kissed Sherlock's mouth in greeting. 

"I was wondering…should we try a case?" Sherlock asked. He thought for a moment after the kiss. "Did you have ham for lunch? You taste like ham," he said as he crinkled his face.

"I had a sandwich from the little deli across the street," John admitted. "A case?" he asked.

"What do you think?" Sherlock said. "Lestrade called us so I suppose he's…you know, okay about it all." He looked up at John when he came back into the room. "Do you think we're ready?"

John smiled softly. "Yeah, I think you are." He said 'you' because that's what was important here -- Sherlock feeling comfortable enough to get back to the usual routine.

Sherlock felt better hearing that. "And you? Are you ready to go back to blogging?" he asked.

John nodded. "I'm sure it's like riding a bike," he smiled. "I'll pick it back up easily."

Sherlock smiled. "Um, you know when we're on crime scenes…are you going to be able to keep from thinking about that thing we did in the bath the other day? Because I can't have you distracted…you know, thinking about sex all the time." He pulled a cheeky face.

John grinned. "I'm always thinking about that. But I'm a professional, after all. You don't have to worry."

"All right then," Sherlock said, smiling before taking a drink of tea. "What are we doing for dinner? Should we invite Mrs Hudson out somewhere, you know, just to be nice?"

"Yeah, we can invite her out," John said. "I think she'd like that."

"Will you be able to handle her teasing you?"

John smiled softly. "I can handle it."

Sherlock smiled back. "You should always trust Mrs Hudson's words, you know," he said. "If she had told me that we loved each other, I would have trusted her. But you just had to disagree and thus she will always have that to tease you about. I thought being with me would have made you more clever, John Watson, but it appears I was wrong." He threw a crumpled up piece of paper at John's head.

John dodged the paper and stuck his tongue out. "There was too much in my head…I was surprised, caught off guard, that's all. And it's not a horrible thing to be smug about. I don't mind."

"Do you want to come sit by me for a moment?" Sherlock asked, patting the sofa next to him.

John smiled wider. "Is that to make your poor aim better?" he asked, picking up the crumpled paper before coming over to the sofa slowly and sitting down. 

"No," Sherlock said in a soft voice. "I just wanted to get by you." He turned on the sofa and kind of flopped his legs over John's and then curled around him. He nuzzled John's neck a little and said, "Going back to cases is kind of the last thing, you know . . . the last step to being how we were . . ."

John wrapped an arm around Sherlock and rubbed his back lightly. "I know. How do you feel about that?" he asked. 

"All right, I think," Sherlock said, drawing circles on John's thigh. "It's not a big case -- if I thought carefully I could probably figure it out on my own, but I think it'd be good for us to go back to how we were. Well, not exactly how we were, but you know what I mean."

John nodded. "I think it'll be good to go out and work the case, and there's nothing wrong with starting small," he said. 

"Is that some kind of dig at my manhood?" Sherlock asked, smiling.

John chuckled. "No. I'm serious," he said.

"I thought that was what you told yourself when you first realised you fancied a man," Sherlock smiled. Sherlock lifted his hand and fiddled with John's hair. "Do you think you still love me a bit?" he asked stupidly.

"I'm sure I love you more than a bit," John said. He met Sherlock's gaze and smiled softly. 

Sherlock said, "I love you more than a bit as well, I'm pretty sure." He rested his head on John again. "Let's stay here a few more moments and then we'll get up and get Mrs Hudson and then we'll get going, yeah? But just a few more moments…"

John nodded. "That's a good idea. I'd like that," he said. "If we take her to Angelo's they might start a fan club," he smiled wider. 

"They've all forgiven me, John," Sherlock said. "I'm glad."

"Of course they would have," John smiled. "They love you -- not like me, of course -- but they are glad to have you back. To not have lost you."

"And you're certain you'll keep loving me?" Sherlock asked.

"Forever," John promised.


End file.
